To Be Remembered
by Laura Schiller
Summary: Based on the Grimbaud novels by Kimberly Karalius. When Emma Ward asked a radio show host for help in overthrowing Zita, she didn't expect a blast from her past.


By Laura Schiller

Based on: _Love Fortunes And Other Disasters_

Copyright: Kimberly Karalius

Emma Ward couldn't believe it. Hard-boiled Hal was sitting in her office.

"I'm missing work for this," he grumbled in that unmistakable smoky voice. "So are you going to tell me what that mysterious phone call was all about, or would you rather stare at me?"

She also couldn't believe his rudeness. Of course, she should have expected that; his radio persona was hardly a model of decorum. But it was quite a different thing to have him speaking like this face to face, frowning at her with eyes the color of fresh coffee, wearing a sharp black business suit and looking much younger than she had pictured him. Attractive men spelled trouble for her, always had. Combine that with a complete lack of manners and she was genuinely tempted to call security and get him thrown out.

But the Charm Theory Club needed her – and, unfortunately, they needed him as well.

"My assistant, Fallon … she tells me that she and her friends are trying to change things in this city," said Emma, clasping her hands in front of her to prevent nervous gesturing. "That they plan to confront Zita and … and convince her to give up printing love fortunes."

Her visitor's scoff was not promising. She cleared her throat and forced herself to continue.

"Fallon told me she asked you for help, and that you refused. I called you here in the hope of … well … changing your mind."

"Huh." For a moment, the man seemed to be blushing underneath his stubble, as if he were embarrassed at the reminder of dismissing Fallon and her friends. But from the way he shook his shaggy-haired head and rolled his eyes at her, she wondered if the blush had been an optical illusion.

"C'mon, Emma. You don't seriously believe a bunch of kids can stop the most powerful person in town?" His use of her given name made her heart stutter – how did he even know it? – but she was determined not to let that distract her.

"Kids? What are you, twenty, twenty-five? You and I were their age not so long ago." _Besides, we bachelors and spinsters have no choice but to grow up early,_ she almost said, but bit her tongue. The last thing he would want was a reminder of his status; she knew that only too well.

"Yeah, I know." Something tugged at the corner of his mouth that was almost a smile. "That's exactly what worries me. At that age, kids think they're immortal."

For a moment, she caught a flash of that self-deprecating charm that made him so popular as Hard-boiled Hal, and it calmed her. So did the hint of concern for the teenagers' safety; if he cared even a little, he might be persuaded to join the cause to protect them. She took a deep breath.

"Mr. De Groote - "

"For Christ's sake, stop calling me that!"

His voice shook the tiny, stuffy room like a thunderclap, scattering papers across her desk, knocking over a photograph of her playing croquet with Helena and Yasmine. Her hand went instinctively to the receiver of her phone, ready to speed-dial one of the assistant principals if there was trouble. Looking into his deep brown eyes following his outburst, however, she saw that it was even worse than she had feared. Mr. De Groote wasn't angry. He was _hurt_.

"We went to high school together," he said, with a defeated sigh, as if the commonplace words were a secret dragged out of him against his will. "You were in my geography class. Sophomore year. Mrs. Bonner."

It was the word _geography_ that finally made the facts fall into place. She remembered him now, sixteen and crackling with energy, holding the entire class in the palm of his hand with a presentation about Brazil. He had made them _see_ it, the lush wet rainforests and soaring cityscapes, the sparkling beaches and desperate slums, the people dressed like flowers and birds on carnival day, the stone statue on top of the mountain with its hands held out. He'd made them laugh with a goofy attempt to lead their elderly teacher through a few samba steps. Oh yes, Emma remembered.

She had never been his friend, or even spoken to him much beyond the everyday concerns of homework, weather and exams. But they had at least been on a first-name basis.

"Bram?"

"That's me." His tense features relaxed into a smile, and the smile was familiar.

"Did you ever get there? To Brazil, I mean?" She felt ridiculous for asking that, as if sophomore year was only yesterday, but the question slipped out before she could stop it. "I liked that presentation you gave back then. You sounded … interested." _Passionate_ was the word that came to mind, but that was not a word that spinsters used out loud.

"No." He shook his head, but didn't look too disappointed by the fact. "Too busy with work. You?"

"Yes." She blushed. "I took a gap year after graduation. I went to Rio. Words fail."

"Even for a librarian, eh?" he teased gently, gesturing around the room, where she had bookshelves so full they were in danger of collapse. "Must have been some trip."

Her job title jolted her back to the present. That was who she was now: librarian, spinster, adult. "Yes, well. It was a while ago."

Bram had changed, she could see that now. He had been slim once, one of the best players on Grimbaud High's soccer team; now his shirt tightened over the beginnings of a beer belly. Grim lines were beginning to form around his mouth. Emma tugged at the eggplant-colored sweater Yasmine had knitted for her, knowing quite well how little grounds she had to criticize anyone else's appearance. Her high school self felt impossibly far away.

 _Get hold of yourself, Emma,_ she scolded herself. _You're twenty-six, not eighty-six._ She hadn't called him here to reminisce about the past. It was the future at stake – his, hers, her young friends', the entire city's.

"You see, you inspired me to travel. So did Mrs. Bonner. And as Hard-boiled Hal, you open the minds of your listeners, you make them think. One person _can_ influence the lives of others. That's why I honestly believe my students have a chance – but they'll need all the help they can get."

"Yes."

"You know as well as I do that there's something wrong in Grimbaud. Remember that piece you did on your radio show about the unsolved love charm crimes – how this man put a love potion in his wife's drink every night without her knowing, and when she found out and went to the police, they called her a liar? It made me so angry, in the best way. We can change things, we can - "

She broke off, mortified. Bram de Groote was laughing at her, so hard his shoulders heaved and his dark eyes squeezed shut.

"Holy shit, Emma!" He wiped his eyes with the end of his gray tie. "And they say I've got a big gob. I said yes, okay? I'll help. Of course I will."

"You will?" She blinked at him through her glasses, nonplussed. "But – but a minute ago, you were saying - "

"Yeah, well." He fidgeted in his chair. This time there was no mistake about it; he _was_ blushing. "Let's just say it's nice to be remembered."

"Oh." Her own cheeks were uncomfortably hot. She ducked her head to disguise it, tidying the papers and photograph on her desk. "I - I'm sorry about that," she stammered. "Not recognizing you earlier. I'm nearsighted, you see. It gets worse every year."

"No big deal." The friendly amusement in his voice gave her courage to look up. "What can I say? I'm a man of mystery." He winked at her, shaped his hand into a pistol, and pretended to blow smoke off it.

"We could use one," Emma joked. "Welcome to the rebellion, Mr. De – I mean, Bram."

"At your service, Ms. Emma Ward."

He stood up, smoothed his blazer, and held out his hand to her, still acting the part of a spy in an action film. For a split second, she hesitated. The last time she'd touched a man had been at the end of her job interview with the principal, who was fifty and had hands like a sweaty rubber doll's.

 _Go on._ She put her hand in his. Instead of shaking it, to her utter shock, he raised her knuckles to his lips and kissed them lightly.

Without another word, he picked up the briefcase by his chair and strode out of the room. Mercifully, the door was closed by the time Emma's knees turned to jelly under her.

She landed in her chair with an unladylike thump.

 _Oh no, no, no,_ was her first thought. _Not again!_

For heaven's sake, she mustn't overreact. He obviously liked to play James Bond, that was all, the same way Helena liked to adapt the dress and mannerisms of a lady from a Jane Austen novel. It didn't mean anything. Men _never_ meant anything when it came to her. That was her fortune. Her destiny.

Wasn't it?

Fallon would tell her otherwise. _The only thing forcing you to live like this is yourselves,_ the young girl had told the spinsters when they'd found her in the snow with her arms around a boy. Fallon wouldn't panic at being touched. She was braver than that.

The hand kiss could still come to nothing. But as she rubbed the spot where Bram's lips had been, Emma inexplicably found herself smiling.


End file.
